Someone Else
by ldee417
Summary: All Hermione wants to do is study. (A little fluff. A little snog. A little mystery.) --COMPLETE--
1. Prologue

**Title: **Someone Else

**Author:** luckdragon

**Rating: **oh… PG, most likely

**Summary:** All Hermione wants to do is study.  (A little fluff. A little snog. A little mystery.)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them.  If you do, it's not worth suing anyone over – trust me, the lawyer's fees will be far more than you'll get in return.

**Author's Note: **Hi all!  This is the first piece of HP fanfic I've ever written (although I currently have more in production), which I affectionately call my "practice piece" because it's nothing deep, nothing earth-shattering, nothing lengthy, just a little something I threw together.  I'll warn everyone now – I wrote it in somewhat of a mystery style, so I'm not going to announce the ship right off the bat.  If you're afraid that this might not turn out to be your cup of tea, please turn back now.  And don't flame me in the long run, because I'm warning you now.  (For those of you who know exactly how this will turn out because I've directed you here from elsewhere… hope you enjoy this anyway!)  With that said, I'll end this insanely long author's note and move along to the Prologue…

She is surprised to discover what Someone Else's Lips feel like.

Particularly in connection with her own, that is.

She doesn't know what she was expecting. Well, certainly, she wasn't expecting this… now… or ever, really.  Or had she?  Of course she's wondered about it, in general terms at the very least.  Been curious.  Wanted to learn.

Usually, she learns with a certain solid academic enthusiasm.  Although she has broken many others, she follows the rules of this particular game, switching gears in rapid-fire order until she is devouring knowledge like so many chocolate frogs.  She starts the search broad, ends it narrow – from thumbing through indexes to gleaning every bit of information from a few sentences.  How she ended up here, researching an entirely different lesson, was completely antithetical.  Her brain and body had screamed as she swung unevenly from indignation to anger, to shock, and finally to this blissful confusion (with a quick U-turn and pit stop somewhere near desire).  She was torn from certainty (extremely focused on being disgruntled) into a nebula (swirled confusion and pleasure).

Someone Else's Lips are much warmer than she would have expected.  They are more mobile, variable.  You couldn't chart or plot them if you tried.  There is nothing analytical about this. 

She has the most curious sensation of becoming completely unmoored, as the kissing progresses past what she foolishly assumed would be its logical conclusion.  (Maybe she doesn't know as much as she thinks she does?)  Perhaps it would be different, she thinks fleetingly, if he were at least holding onto me.

Instead, he is leaning over her desk, over her chair.  She is halfway out of the latter, her knees beginning to ache and give.  This means that they are touching in no place other than the obvious.  His lean hands are braced firmly on the sides of her desk, and hers are clutched along the edge nearest her body.  She wants to move, because this position is awkward and excruciating, but this moment (or has it been several moments now?) is far too tenuous.

But this is coward's talk, and she knows it.  Her reflexive, vulnerable, instinctual reaction is embarrassing her down to her last proud nerve – but, she must admit, this is without a doubt one of the most exhilarating moments of her life thus far, and she doesn't know anything other than this somewhat clumsy course of action.

She does.  She could stop him.  Slap him.  Run off.  _Storm_ off, more like it. Or, she could, as she is doing now, muster all her courage and place a hand behind his neck.  She feels dizzy, and she needs something to hang onto that allows her to either flex or straighten her painful knees.  She might also, if she is willing to admit it, be delightfully drowning and actually _want_ to touch him.

This proves to be the right strategy.

He must know full well by now what he is doing.

But he doesn't stop, and instead, with movements she can't begin to comprehend because she feels so addled, he sweeps both himself and her around the edge of the desk.  Her chair tumbles to the ground.  His arms lock around her.  She realizes that she can feel his hipbones, the insides of his elbows, so many parts of him.

So now she also knows what Someone Else's Arms feel like clutching at her back, as well as… oh Merlin… Someone Else's Tongue.

How on earth… how on earth did she get here?


	2. Chapter 1

**Title: **Someone Else

**Author:** luckdragon

**Rating: **oh… PG, most likely

**Summary:** All Hermione wants to do is study.  (A little fluff. A little snog. A little mystery.)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them.  If you do, it's not worth suing anyone over – trust me, the lawyer's fees will be far more than you'll get in return.

**Author's Note: **Hello again!  Thanks for the reviews -- they made me smile. : )  Well, here we go again.  It jumps back and forth, so hopefully you'll be able to follow along.  Suffice it to say that by the end of the story, you should be able to cut and paste the sections and get the story all in order if you wanted to.  Let me know what you think!  Thank you for reading!

She wonders if she has a strange look on her face.

Lavender and Parvati are both staring curiously, so it seems as if she does.

 "What's all that blushing about?" Parvati finally poses the question.

 "Oh, I'm not blushing," she says, knowing full well that this feeble lie will do nothing for her – it's trying to stop a tidal wave with a napkin.

Lavender and Parvati are far more slowly insistent than a tidal wave, however.  Their approach is not to overwhelm in one fell swoop, but to chip away in polite, miniscule portions.

"It seems to me that you are," Lavender takes over. "Have you been embarrassed by something?"  Both girls are still lazy in their questioning, but Hermione knows that this in no way means that they will relent.

"Er, in a way I suppose," Hermione offers. 

"By what then?"

 "Oh, nothing.  It's nothing." _It's nothing like I've ever experienced before, at any rate_, her brain continues mutinously.

 Parvati steps it up a notch – just a notch, sitting up just a bit straighter over her parchment.  The girls, undoubtedly awake late into the night gossiping or practicing their makeup or sneaking out on dates or whatever it is that they _do_, are doing their best to piece together their schoolwork by the early morning light.  Hermione, mind miles – or hallways – away, has stumbled upon their endeavor. "But you seem so flustered.  Why don't you just tell us what's wrong? You might just feel better," Parvati encourages.

She wonders if she can feel any better.  Or any worse.  She decides that she cannot, but that secrecy is still imperative.

"I'm fine, thank you, Parvati."

She turns her head slightly and notices that Lavender's impatience is beginning to radiate off of her less subtly.  Lavender doesn't like that their questions are getting them nowhere, and cuts closer to the chase.  "Is it a boy?" she asks bluntly. "I've never seen anyone in your state who wasn't worked up over a member of the opposite sex."

Hermione feels the color on her cheeks deepen, and the girls abandon their books with lightning speed.  Before she knows it, she is pulled into a position even more uncomfortable than her recent crouching snog – sitting in a cozy circle with her girlfriends.  Both are grinning like Cheshire cats… like cats that ate the canary… like some sort of feline, at any rate.

"So what happened?" 

"Yeah, tell us. You don't get bothered over boys so it must be something important.  Give us every detail."

She knows that she must leave one important detail out.  "I, er. Well." She can't find words to begin, doesn't even know whether she wants to or not (and this is just one thing of the many about which she is unsure).  Lavender and Parvati's grins widen.  Surely, this is a sign of the apocalypse.  Her own personal apocalypse at least.

"Spit it out or we'll assume the worst!" Parvati urges.

"It's not that!" she exclaims. "Goodness! It was just a little… kissing."

This announcement is followed by a chorus of painful squeals.

 "You've gone and got yourself kissed! Well done, Hermione!" Parvati exclaims when she is again capable of words.

 "Who was the lucky victim?" Lavender implores, leaning forward.

 "I can't… it's a secret," Hermione stutters unsteadily.

 "A secret?" Lavender gasps, scathingly. "You can't keep that a secret!"

 "Why can't I?"

 "How are you supposed to squeal over your first proper kiss with us if you won't tell us who it was with?"

 "I think you've done more than enough squealing without me being involved."

This comment does nothing to faze the inquisitors.  "Come on, Hermione," Parvati whines. "You're taking all the fun out of it."

She snorts.  "Believe me, I'm not."  This, before she can help herself.  She realizes that she has thrown herself back to the wolves.  Perhaps she subconsciously wants to talk about it, to make sure that it really happened by saying the words aloud.  Perhaps she is just continuing her apparent transformation into a complete and utter glutton for punishment.  

"Oh, none of that!" Lavender says with sparkling eyes. "Now you have to tell us!"

"Anything but who it was," she agrees wearily.

Her two antagonists squeal again.  She wonders if they realize how much they sound like pigs.  The analogy fits, she thinks ruefully: they are scavenging and rifling and turning up what truffles they can.

"All right," Parvati says. "Was it a proper snog?"

"Parvati!"

"So it was!" the girl laughs.  "Did you enjoy it? Was it well-done?"

Hermione's cheeks, nearly back to normal, flush with color again.

Lavender laughs. "So it was that too. You know, Hermione, you're giving us all the answers, but I'm afraid that you're going to have to open that yap of yours and give us some details."

"I… I don't know what you'd want to know."

"Anything," Lavender insists. "Everything!"

"Give me an example," Hermione says miserably.

"Well, where were you?"

"In a classroom."

"How appropriate," Parvati snorts, causing Hermione to glower.  "So, it _was_ quite enjoyable then?" the interrogator continues, unimpeded by Hermione's sour glare.

"It was…" Hermione says haltingly, "…by all accounts…" Parvati and Lavender lean in just a bit "outstanding. Wonderful.  Marvelous."  She begins to question whether her cheeks will ever regain their natural hue.

"But, how did this all come about?" Lavender presses.

Hermione looks at her wearily.  "I don't know."

"Why are you studying in here, Hermione?" Ron asked, ducking his head into the classroom.

"For privacy," Hermione answered tiredly, wondering if her veiled implication will get across. 

"What d'you want that for?" Ron continued, taking a few steps farther into the room.

Hermione sighed.  _Apparently not_.  "I have an Arithmancy exam in two days time.  I need to study."

"All you do is study!  Come back to the common room with me – we'd be thrilled to see you somewhere outside of a classroom."

"I'm sorry, Ron, but this is difficult work.  I'm afraid I can't spend twenty minutes coming up with new and ghastly ways of seeing my own death and call it a night!" she snapped.

Ron pursed his lips.  "There's no need to be huffy about it," he said a bit too critically as he perched backwards on the chair in front of hers.  "It's not my fault you took a difficult class."

Hermione scowled, her train of thought completely derailed.  "I am not _huffy_… I'm serious about my studies.  And I happen to _like _the challenge of a difficult class," she retorted.  "Could you please just leave me in peace for one evening?"

"What are you saying, Hermione? That I must not be able to handle a more challenging class?  That I'm nothing but a lazy git?"

"Not at all," Hermione stated frostily. "Don't take it like that.  I take challenging classes, and they require a lot of work, and if I'm interrupted I have to go back and –"

"Ah, so then I'm an annoying lazy git?  Perhaps I know how to have a bit of fun once in a while," Ron retorted, taking offense.

"I'm not here to fight, Ron.  I'm talking about myself, not about you.  Please just leave me be, and I'll see you a little later."  Hermione realized that he was becoming angrier than he should over this, and made a feeble attempt to pacify him.

"Fine," he rejoined, standing and hovering over her desk.  "But one day, Harry and I might just be offended that you'd rather be with books than real three-dimensional people, and where will that leave you?"

Hermione's jaw dropped and she tensed her legs, ready to stand and defend her studious honor.

After the inquisition, Hermione avoids the Great Hall, encasing herself behind a fortress of books at a table in the library in hopes of finding a bit more respite.  She reopens her Arithmancy books with a sigh that starts dutiful and ends in relaxation.  This state does not last long, however, as the chair across from hers is drawn out and occupied suddenly.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione hisses, trying in vain to cap the annoyance rushing to the surface that hardens her eyes and tints her skin.

"Bothering you," Draco whispers back acidly.  He looks at the book he has stolen from her stock and flipped open rather than at her.  His feigned studying only irritates her further.

"Consider it a success.  Now please leave."

"You won't believe what I've just heard," he continues in muted tones, obviously ignoring her request and glancing up – eyes only – to punctuate his sentence.

"That you're not Merlin's gift to Hogwarts?"

"Clever.  But, no, I think that what I heard is the truth."

Hermione sighs.  "If I let you enlighten me, will you promise to leave me in peace?"

Draco frowns slightly, tilting his head a bit in mock consideration.  He snaps the stolen book shut briskly and runs his fingers lightly over the cover, drumming them decisively in the end.  "Consider it done," he whispers, leaning forward slightly.  "I wouldn't want to waste too much of my day on you anyway."

Outwardly, Hermione ignores this slight in the hopes of accelerating his departure.  "What is it then?"  

"I've heard that someone around here has had a bit of a late-night snog."  Now, he's looking at her in full to completely appreciate every nuance of her reaction.  He is not disappointed: her skin (insubordinate as is usual of the past few days) becomes tinged, her lips tighten, and her gaze becomes a bit more intense. 

"Thank you for sharing," she hisses.  _Lavender and Parvati_, she growls internally.  "And now that I've upheld my half of our bargain, I'll see you in Potions."

"Not embarrassed, Granger?" he questions quietly, tartly, still not leaving.  "I would have expected you to be a bit more… oh, shamed."

"_So_ sorry to disappoint," she snaps as quietly as she can.  

Their eyes lock across the table in a fiery glare.


	3. Chapter 2

**Title: **Someone Else

**Author:** luckdragon

**Rating: **oh… PG, most likely

**Summary:** All Hermione wants to do is study.  (A little fluff. A little snog. A little mystery.)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them.  If you do, it's not worth suing anyone over – trust me, the lawyer's fees will be far more than you'll get in return.

**Author's Note: **Hello! *waves*  Sorry about the three updates last time around.  I was having a little trouble getting the _correct_ version uploaded.  Anyway, yes, the fic does jump back and forth between "present" and flashbacks. Here's a hint for you (well, not so much a hint as blatantly pointing out how to tell the difference): watch the verb tenses. ;) Only two chapters left after this, and hopefully the next one will be up soon, since this one is a bit shorter.  Enjoy, and if you feel like it, let me know what you think!  Thanks for reading!

She is curious about how many beats per minute her heart is getting in – she knows it must be pumping furiously even though she is completely unaware of whether or not it's still functioning.  

He has twisted them around slightly, and one of her hands is back on the desk – behind her, bracing, balancing as the onslaught continues.  The other hand is exactly where she had the nerve to first touch him (_second_ touch him, actually).  It clutches the back of his neck, then slides up into his hair.

He is pulling at her, making her stand on tiptoe awkwardly as he shifts his weight.  These motions seem to interrupt their body song, or at least throw a wrench into its rhythm.  She furrows her brow; she does not understand until he pulls back just briefly to groan four words.

"_Sit_ on the _desk_."

This interruption doesn't even leave her time to open her eyes, and she is relieved as his lips crush onto hers again, meeting much more participation now.  He draws on her again, and she hops, and before she really knows what is happening, he positions his body between her knees.  Everything inside of her is turning into syrup and flowing downwards – she has never been positioned so, or had another positioned so, and his voice, the gravel in it when he spoke – it is all happening so fast now, and her mind is such a blur.  

But then something happens.

Without her realizing it, he has moved a hand from her back.  

When it reaches its destination, somewhere specific between her shoulder and waistband, she leans forward a bit as her body burns – but then jolts and pushes him back.  "No," she gasps weakly.

"No?"

Hermione huddled under her covers with a mirror, her small private tent illuminated by the tip of her wand.  Her own reflection looked alien – cheeks still retaining some rosiness, lips still slightly puffy, hair still tousled, eyes still bright but confused.  The room was nearly silent.  Hermione thanked Merlin for this, because her current state of hypersensitivity would be overwhelmed by anything else.  

She began this examination upon remembering that she's now learned what Someone Else's Just-Snogged Face looks like.  He had never looked better, standing motionless beside the desk with his flushed features and swollen mouth.  And _she_ had made him look that way!  Amazed, exhilarated, baffled, Hermione suddenly wondered whether she had looked just the same.  

The evidence led her to believe that she had.

_Well_, she thought. _I've had a snog_.  And she giggled, just a bit.

At lunch, conversation is awkward.  Harry attempts to engage Ron and Hermione in talks about Quidditch and classes, respectively.  Ron eats in silence save his grunted replies, and Hermione – starving and having decided that hiding solves nothing – isn't even bothered to raise her odd gaze from the tabletop.  Finally, Harry sets his fork down roughly and explodes.  "All right, you two," he exclaims, "will you just apologize for whatever it was and get back to something resembling peace?"

Neither Ron nor Hermione glance up from their plates, although she has the courtesy to look slightly startled.  

A moment of silence.           

"I don't know what you're talking about, mate," Ron finally grumbles.  "All's well."

"About as well as a boxful of blast-ended skrewts," Harry sighs.

He does not get a chance to continue, as Lavender and Parvati suddenly plop down across from the trio.  Their presence seems to steal both table space and the very atmosphere, as the girls focus instantly on Hermione.  The latter's expression becomes quite wooden; however, even the arrivals do not make her lift her eyes.

"Hello, Hermione," Parvati says with a grin.  "Harry. Ron."

"Hullo," Ron manages to mutter.  Harry, irritated, only nods.

"Wow, bunches of fun at this end of the table," Lavender complains.  "Would've thought you'd be a bit more cheerful, Hermione."

This does the trick.  Hermione's head darts up, and she does not have time to wipe the scandalized look off her face before Harry turns a curious eye to her expression.

"What does she mean? What are you going on about, Lavender?"

"Er, I thought you'd have known," she replies uncomfortably.

"Known? Known what?"

"Obviously something that you have no right butting in about!" Hermione explodes, abandoning her lunch and storming from the Great Hall.  She feels what seem to be myriad eyes on her back as she retreats.  She wonders if she has ever felt so many emotions in day's time.  All for a few bloody moments of fun.

"No," she repeats.  "This… I…"

"Fine," he answers briskly, removing his hands, his arms, his mouth.  As he steps away, the flowing feeling is replaced by one of dropping suddenly.  She recognizes this vaguely as disappointment.

"All right then," she mutters, hopping awkwardly off the desk and straightening her clothing, her gaze glued firmly at her hands or the ground or anywhere that was not him.

"Bloody hell," he says with a grimace.  He takes hold of her arms, freezing them in mid-sleeve-smooth.  _This_ makes her look up as she is caught unawares, and he bestows one more firm, passionate kiss upon her lips before releasing her entirely.  "Off with you then," he finishes gruffly.

She cannot imagine what her face must look like.  Her expression feels as though it is frozen somewhere between terror and rapture.  His is unreadable, but maybe that's just because she's too close… she hasn't backed up a step, despite their current state of… not touching.  He hasn't either, come to think of it.

And just like a scene out of some miserable Muggle movie, they grasp each other once again.


	4. Chapter 3

**Title: **Someone Else

**Author:** luckdragon

**Rating: **oh… PG, most likely

**Summary:** All Hermione wants to do is study.  (A little fluff. A little snog. A little mystery.)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them.  If you do, it's not worth suing anyone over – trust me, the lawyer's fees will be far more than you'll get in return.

**Author's Note: **For those of you who are still reading, thank you for following along.  I hope you're enjoying yourselves. :) Well, this is the penultimate chapter.  Since I've spelled it all out in the last A/N, I might as well point out that the point that ends the "past flashback" sections of the story is in this chapter.  As you might guess, the mystery's very nearly solved, and will be within the next few days.  Enjoy!

Harry catches up with her on a stairway.  "_Hermione_!" he calls urgently, then catches her arm, which she yanks away without preamble.  

"Harry! Please! Leave well enough alone for the time being!" she turns away again furiously, eyes beginning to prick and sting.  

"I will if you stop and talk to me for just one minute."

Hermione slows, and finally turns.  He is one of her best friends.  She can't go on acting like this around him.  She says nothing but her posture communicates her compliance.

"Hermione… you aren't still upset about, er, the other night, are you?" Harry questions awkwardly.  "You haven't talked to your roommates…" his voice trails off into a rather helpless void.

Hermione, eyes downcast and tired, shakes her head.

"I'm sorry for that… if I had known it would be so strange…"

"It's not your fault, Harry.  No need for all that.  You know I wasn't upset in the first place.  Would you mind terribly if I go lie down?"

"No.  No.  So long as you're not angry with me," Harry says in a quietly eager voice, punctuating his words with an earnest glance.

"Of course not," Hermione replies with a small smile.  "I'll see you a bit later."

 Hermione sank back into her seat and sighed, drained.  She looked at the pages of her book, trying to figure out if the random marks therein might form actual words.  Was this even the right page?  Its edges were rumpled slightly, and she had to admit that this was not a startling fact, nor was it disturbing.  Moreover, it should have been to one such as herself.  She had been known to treat books better then people every now and again.

Naturally, her brain had settled into a rut and refused to be budged.  She could see no way to haul it out – turning her thoughts and refocusing would only result the unpleasant jarring of a rattled concentration.  She sighed.  The classroom, cozy and contusive as recently as fifteen minutes ago, was now foreign and isolated.  She flopped the cover of her Arithmancy book over and looked rather numbly at its cover.  Her hands, moving in fashionable slow motion, gathered quills, scraps of parchment, books – placed them carefully in her bag.

She felt like she was in a film.

Of course she was being watched.

Hermione collapses onto her bed, covering her eyes with the backs of her crossed arms.

Once was bad enough, and twice was unsurprisingly intolerable… especially given her propensity to analyze a subject until her mind felt as though it could see all sides of a topic at once.

How could this have happened again?  

She's stuck out the day, and she attributes this solely to her astonishing ability to immerse herself in knowledge and scholarship.  After the… repeat performance, as it were… and after the ordeal at lunch, she had made a deal with herself.  It went like this: she kept her eyes on her notes, on her books, on the teacher, on the table; she talked in as few words as possible (bonus points for entire mono-syllabic conversations); she spent all free time in the most secluded spot she could find in the company of her books only; she didn't turn her eyes or her thoughts away until she was alone at the end of this unending day – and, in return, she got through it all alive.  Somehow, it has worked.  For the most part anyway.

She removes her arms and presses her hands to her face, rubbing her forehead almost savagely with her fingertips.  This leaves her lips resting lightly against the heels of her hands, and she whimsically thinks of little girls "practicing" kissing their hands.  Practicing kissing.  She wrenches her thoughts towards the concept of kissing rather than its recent reality.

Hermione is intrigued to discover that she rather likes this new practice of kissing.  She hasn't really been able to consider that first shocking encounter with anything close to a rational mind.  This second experience proves something to her that she was rather unable to admit earlier – that this is something to be enjoyed (and made doubly exhilarating given the circumstances).  There is something about this that is satisfying in the same way that solving an Arithmancy problem correctly is gratifying.  It all lay in the breaking through of barriers, in lining up the otherwise-confusing parts of the problem correctly and discovering the one right solution… or in letting go of the confusion and getting caught up in the moment.  Of course it is entirely different as well, an entire world apart.  Arithmancy doesn't quite rate in the same category as far as pulse-pounding excitement goes.

She finds herself thoroughly engrossed as she ponders her recent encounters.  She relishes the way that Someone Else's Energy is entirely focused on her – and vice versa.  She feels slightly dark, slightly corrupted, although she has not overstepped any boundaries that make her uncomfortable… well, not as far as _what_ her activities have been.  In fact, she feels somehow a bit older and a bit sillier all at once.   Surprisingly, she realizes that against all odds, she feels a bit happier too.  _He _certainly didn't seem uncomfortable either, after all.  Perhaps "intolerable" was the wrong word for the situation altogether.  

Hermione rolls over and hugs her pillow.

She is smiling.

She is certain that somewhere, he is too.  

She looks up, and there's someone at the door.

"What are you doing here?" she asks a bit harshly.  It's not who she expected at all… it's someone else entirely.

"Just doing my rounds and decided to see what all the commotion was about," he says in an aloof tone.

"What commotion?" she asks, clearly nettled.

"I heard shouting.  Trouble in paradise?" These words are less detached, leaning towards malicious.

"What?"

"Is Ronniekins in the doghouse?" he questions disdainfully.  "I just saw him storming down the hallway with his face all red – well, actually with his entire head all red then, really.  He looked like he might just cry."

Hermione bristles.  "He's not my boyfriend, Malfoy.  I don't have one of those.  And I was just leaving, if you don't mind."


	5. Chapter 4

**Title: **Someone Else

**Author:** luckdragon

**Rating: **oh… PG, most likely

**Summary:** All Hermione wants to do is study.  (A little fluff. A little snog. A little mystery.)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them.  If you do, it's not worth suing anyone over – trust me, the lawyer's fees will be far more than you'll get in return.

**Author's Note: **This is the end of the road!  Thanks for reading!

Harry approached Hermione cautiously in the library.  She glanced up, looking frazzled.

"Hermione, can I bother you for a second?"

"Just for a second, Harry.  I'm trying to study for the Arithmancy test in three days, and I can't seem to find any peace and quiet."

"I just need a second."

"What is it then?" Hermione asked patiently, setting aside her quill.  

"I… has… I was just in the common room…"

"I see."

"Hermione, I'm going to make you shut that book.  Moving on.  I was talking… to, well, you see…"

"Harry…"

"Ginny."

"Ginny?"

"She wants me to be… well, frankly, she wants me to be her date for this weekend."

"I'm not surprised."

"You're not?  I thought she had gone off me."

"Apparently she's come back on, hasn't she?"

"And you're… okay with that?"

Hermione frowned.  "Why shouldn't I be?"

"It's just that… Lavender seemed to imply that you might have, well, feelings for me."

"Oh…"

"So it's true.  Hermione, I'm so sorry, but I –"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, then paused, trying to formulate her reply in the best manner possible.  She wasn't certain that there was any way to send these thoughts out into the world that would be well received.  "I care for you – of course I do.  But… I'm afraid that I don't want to date you.  You're one of my best friends.  Don't you see, that's even better!"  She smiled genuinely at her companion, covering his hand with her own.  

"If it's true, Hermione, you don't have to lie to me… we can work it out.  We can –"

"Harry," she said softly.  "I'm not lying."  She looked at him worriedly.  "I'm sorry," she added.

"Oh… no! Don't be. I'm the one who owes you an apology.  Assuming things, you see.  This is fantastic, really," Harry started to ramble.  "I…" he flushed.  "I'm the one who should apologize.  I mean… what does Lavender… I'll just let you get back to your studies.  I need to go find Ginny anyway."  With this, he blushed a slightly deeper shade and hurried away.

"Of course you don't have a boyfriend," he scoffs.  "Who'd want to date a bookworm such as yourself?"

"I assure you that I've had dates, not that I'll be discussing them with you," she returns coolly.  "Now, I'll just be going."  She turns her back to heft her overloaded bag, and she imagines that he is giving her a derisive stare as she does so.  His next words do nothing to contradict this.

"Who, Krum?  A few turns around the floor at the Yule Ball?" he snorts.  "That's adorable."

Hermione, already vexed due to her row with Ron, drops her bag and about-faces angrily.  Her voice comes out as a frustrated yell.  "You don't know anything about me or about Viktor, so why don't you just sod off!"

He does nothing of the sort; instead, he advances a few slow steps.  "I may not _know_… but I'm willing to bet that you have no idea what it's like to have someone _want you_."  On the last words, his voice drops dangerously in both tone and pitch.

She frowns, irritated, mostly by two facts: first, her skin colors slightly at his words, betraying unspoken fears, and secondly, she notices a note-covered piece of parchment on the floor on the opposite side of the desk.  She sits down in frustration and reaches for it.  She wants to leave, and the blasted scrap is delaying her departure.

He, however, isn't done talking or invading her personal space.  "I'm willing to bet that you don't know what it's like to have someone transfixed by you… watching you… thinking of little else but kissing you senseless."  He is looking at her somewhat curiously now, but not in a direct fashion.  It's almost as though he's being bothered by something that's all at once related to and completely separate from the present.  He is almost at the other side of the desk.

"I've been kissed, and it was very satisfying, thank you very much," Hermione snaps, bringing his eyes back to her.  She has.  Several times on each one of her cheeks, and each time gave her a very warm, pleasant feeling.  She realizes with a shock that she is feeling something not entirely dissimilar from this at the present moment, and she doesn't like it one bit.  Annoyed, she chalks this slow burn up to anger, rather than Malfoy's peculiar expression and graceful carriage.

"Whatever you say," he says, again looking absently at her.  Suddenly, he seems to snap out of it, and shrugs.  "I just hope you haven't been dirtying any pureblood wizards with that filthy Mudblood mouth of yours."

Hermione's temper blazes lightning-quick, and she begins to vault to her feet – to do what, she's not quite sure.  She later thinks that it might have been to slap him, and it might have been to merely run from the room.  In any case, she doesn't find out.

As she pulls herself up from her seat, he leans over the desk and harshly covers her mouth with his own.

"Why did you do it?" she hisses finally, breaking their determined, angry glare.

Draco smiles sardonically, dropping her book on the table between them.  "To prove myself right."

Hermione blushes even more furiously.  "You proved nothing."      

"Oh, relax."

"Get away from me."

"Fine, fine.  It was also to make you uncomfortable.  To keep you on your toes.  You know how I love to see you and your lot squirm."

"_Just. Sod. Off._"  She is near tears, but she will not cry here.  (Was she foolish to think herself desirable?)  Disregarding her books, she jumps to her feet, ready to flee the library books or no books, even as he stands to go.  Her legs propel her nearly savagely.

But rather than continuing straight past the table and towards the doors, she makes an abrupt left turn.  She grasps the back of his head as he gathers her up, greeting her once again with his warm, unpredictable lips.  

This time, _she _twists _him_.  He leans against the table, moving her so that she is standing between his legs as her hands slide to his shoulders… down his chest… around his torso, which expands and contracts with his ragged breaths.  He keeps one arm around her waist, runs the opposite hand up into her hair, pressing her mouth more firmly against his.  She launches herself zealously into the embrace, clutching onto him securely.

Suddenly, he grasps her head decisively in both hands and pulls away slightly.  "I have a confession to make," he pants.

She nods.

"It was because you look positively devilish when you're upset."

"Oh." 

(But, when he… isn't she always ups… oh.)

Both take a breath, then restart their prior activities with vigor.  Moments later, chased apart by the realization that they are still in a very public library, each eyes the other slightly uneasily.

He is the first to regain himself and speak.

And of course, he wears a wicked smirk. (_Wicked good or wicked bad_? she wonders… _wicked both?_)

"I'll see you later."

"Well… I should certainly hope so."

"Oh, you will."

---FIN---


End file.
